Crowd Control
by Dinogeek
Summary: Sherlock, surrounded by strangers and noise, starts having anxiety problems at a concert. John has to search on the fly for a way to help him calm down.


Sherlock clenched his hands into fists and gritted his jaw. In the seat next to him, John looked over in concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied thinly. A sudden upsurge in the noise of the crowded auditorium made him wince, and John noticed that his breathing was shallow. He squeezed his eyes shut, then seemed to think better of it and opened them again, blinking against the light. The constant input of sound from the other people in the room, who all seemed convinced that their individual conversations should be shared with the world at large at exactly the same time, was starting to frustrate him. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and shout at them all to shut the hell up, if it wasn't too much trouble. But he couldn't, because then he would be thrown out, and if he were thrown out then John would be too. And John had been specifically asked by his sister to come to her choir concert, and to please bring Sherlock with him. John and Harry spoke so rarely that any outreach on either of their parts couldn't be ignored, so Sherlock had reluctantly agreed to come along.

After yet another person jostled themselves past his legs, his patience broke and he somehow folded his whole six foot two frame into the auditorium chair, crossing his legs in front of him with his arms around his knees. His face looked positively thunderous, but there was an undercurrent of serious anxiety that John could sense driving it. Sherlock's eyes darted around the room, and he flinched every time someone close to him spoke or moved. Keeping his voice as quiet as he could without being inaudible, John asked again if he was alright. He winced himself as the other man flinched again, realizing that hadn't been the best move.

He looked paler than was normal even for him, and when John put a hand on his arm, the muscles were absolutely rigid and shaking slightly. John checked his watch. There were ten minutes until the concert was set to start. Too little time to take him outside for a breather and too much to leave him in the state he was now. John bit his lip, thinking hard.

"Sherlock, if you don't tell me what's bothering you, I can't do anything about it." Sherlock glared at him and muttered something along the lines of 'why they can't shut up…"

"What?"

"I said, why can't they just shut up? Do they really need to keep _talking_?" John realized what the problem was; the crowd.

"Is it all the people that are bothering you?" Sherlock nodded shortly. A particularly loud burst of laughter from the seats right behind them caused his hands to clench and he gasped involuntarily.

"It's not so bad when I'm outside, but in here it's like the noise echoes around and slams into my head." Sherlock nearly jumped a mile when the woman in the seat beside him accidentally brushed her arm against him. He squeezed himself up tighter, trying desperately to avoid physical contact.

"It bothers you having people on all sides, doesn't it?" Sherlock nodded again.

"I don't like it even if I know them all, but being surrounded by strangers…" He trailed off and winced again. He was, in fact, surrounded by strangers except for John. It wasn't just physical contact that bothered him, it was their presence in such a close proximity, with no sides open, no way out.

"Why don't you try closing your eyes?" John suggested. Sherlock shook his head.

"Makes the noise worse," he muttered. He looked petrified, and John wanted nothing more than to pat him on the shoulder, but he knew that would only make it worse. There had to be _something _he could do. He looked around. The auditorium was not completely full, and with ten minutes left, latecomers were still filing in. Finally, to his immense relief, John spied what he was looking for. He turned back to Sherlock.

"Come on." The detective gave him a confused look, so John clarified. "Get up. We're moving to a different seat." Sherlock still looked bemused, but followed John nonetheless. They made their way to the edge of the seats and out into the aisle. John took him further back, to where the aisle ran across the auditorium as well as to the side. The seat touching the corner was empty, and John planted Sherlock in it and sat down next to him. That way, there was only a person on one side of him, and it was John.

To John's immense relief, Sherlock was finally able to relax his thin frame and sit normally, but there was still the noise problem. John didn't have anything capable of blocking sound to give him, and it was obviously still troubling him. The taller man twitched every time there was a spike in the volume and his hands gripped the armrests so hard they went white. Fifty different conversations mixed themselves together and competed for space inside his head, creating a din that he couldn't block out. John racked his brain to come up with a solution when one hit him right in the face. He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and pulled it out. He had a pair of earphones too, which he plugged into the top. He checked the Wi-Fi in the auditorium and was relieved to find that it worked. He pulled up the radio station list and handed the phone to Sherlock.

"Here," he said. "Listen to the music; it'll block out the noise." Sherlock took the phone from him and put the headphones in. As he found the classical channel and turned the volume up high enough to drown out the torrent of noise, his shallow rapid breathing relaxed to a more normal pace. He closed his eyes and loosened his hands. He was still agitated, but the anxiety was fading, rather than growing. John released a deeply held breath of his own and sank back in his chair. Ten minutes later, the lights dimmed and the performance started. John nudged Sherlock, who turned the radio off and removed the headphones.

The concert was quicker than they had expected. Afterwards, people stayed behind to mingle and greet friends in the community center lobby. When they stopped to wait for Harry, they faced the same problems as in the auditorium, but this time they were ready for it. Sherlock found a patch of mostly secluded wall and pressed himself up against it, reinserting the headphones and turning the radio back up. John found Harry with a group of her friends and went to say hi. They gave each other a short hug.

"Did you like the music?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was good, really good." The two stood awkwardly, until Harry asked,

"Where's your friend? Or could he not make it?"

"Oh, no, he's here. He's over by the wall." Harry looked at Sherlock, who had closed his eyes once more and was tapping his hand against the bricks in time to the music.

"Is he okay?"

"Well, he's a little stressed right now. Being in crowds agitates him. Too much noise, too little personal space. I should probably get him home." He said goodbye to his sister and went over to Sherlock. He jumped when John tapped him on the shoulder, but John just smiled and said,

"Let's go, shall we? Five more minutes here and I think you'll go psychotic on us." Sherlock's lips twitched and he followed John out the door. He made to hail a cab, but John stopped him. "Why don't we just walk? It's a nice night, and it's not that far." The two cut through the park in friendly silence, until John asked, "So, are you alright now?"

"Yes." Sherlock started to say something but stopped abruptly, not sure how to proceed. "I-um… that was… thank you." John smiled at his friend in the lamplight.

"No problem."


End file.
